Seroogy's Valentine Run 15-K

Mist hung in the air as I toed the starting line of the Seroogy's Valentine Run 15-K[4], my husband, Ed, at my side. It was 7 degrees—colder than normal for mid-February in northeastern Wisconsin—and I was eager to race. Not just to warm up, but to finally take a good look at the city.

De Pere, Wisconsin, is home to St. Norbert College, my alma mater. While I had loved the school, I'd never gotten to know the town. Without cars or bikes, my classmates and I had rarely left campus, which suited my plan to graduate summa cum laude just fine. I certainly never ran while I was there; running, indeed fitness in general, wasn't that popular in the early 1980s. Besides, I'd despised the sport since the fourth grade, when teachers sent us out—untrained—on the annual "12-Minute Run." Running as many laps of the track as possible in 12 minutes had always left me breathless and nauseated.

But after college, I moved to Madison, Wisconsin, where I knew no one. Desperate for camaraderie, I joined two guys from my apartment complex on a run. After struggling through a mile, I let them go and walked home. Two days later, I pulled on my battered gym shoes and tried again. I made it to the same spot—and ran the whole way back. Fast-forward a few decades, and I'm now a runner who races everything from the mile to ultras. When I read about this 15-K, it seemed the perfect opportunity to mark my 30th anniversary as a runner and St. Norbert alum—and to explore the town I'd overlooked.

In the first mile, we pounded down North Broadway, a street lined with large 19th-century homes rising over the Fox River. St. Norbert sits just across the river, but as a student, I'd never taken the time to wander over and admire them. We ran past the grand estates and into the peaceful, wooded grounds of St. Norbert Abbey, another place I'd never been. The closest I'd gotten was on the bus that shuttled us to football games on the Abbey grounds.

The route split into the 5-K and 15-K courses after we exited the Abbey. My feet crunched through snow as I joined the 450-strong 15-K group as it streamed down a long, gentle hill. The pace felt comfortably hard, but my watch was buried under layers of clothing. I worried that without it, I'd miss my 1:15 time goal. But turning north onto East River Drive, a wide, residential thoroughfare, I tried to relax and take in my surroundings. It had been almost four miles and I hadn't seen any spectators—understandable, given the cold. The quiet reminded me of the serenity of my college days, and allowed me to focus on the sharp air in my nose and lungs, the weight of my ice-encrusted eyelashes—and my pace. I was now running on feel.

We looped through the turnaround in 51-acre Green Isle Park, where the snow, frigid temps, and fog combined to create a striking frosted effect on the trees. I was running as fast as I dared, but with no clocks on the course, I didn't know how fast that was. Back on East River Drive, a young boy—who would have aced the 12-Minute Run—cruised past and sped out of sight. "Well, that was embarrassing," said the man running alongside me. I laughed.

We chugged back up the mile-long hill and hit the final stretch to the finish line near the expansive Seroogy's retail store. The 115-year-old chocolatier sponsors the race, and I started dreaming of the velvety chocolate bites I'd soon devour. As a student 30 years ago, I'd never ventured into Seroogy's, either—probably a good thing.

To my surprise, the clock flashed 1:11:14 as I crossed the finish line. In exploring my college town, I'd also found an effective race strategy: running by feel (who knew?). Volunteers pressed a Seroogy's chocolate bar into my mittened hand. At the awards ceremony, I snagged first-place in my age group, and Ed placed third in his—we both got a Seroogy's mug and packet of hot chocolate. All in all, a pretty sweet homecoming.